


something about hindsight and twenty-twenty, oh the irony

by possessedradios (orphan_account)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: But Oh Well., M/M, POV Second Person, back on my "wannabe character study" bullshit sry guys, he doesn't deserve it and that's not even what i was trying to do initially., i'm really out here trying to make elias bouchard into a somewhat sympathetic character huh?, i'm really that person.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 19:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/possessedradios
Summary: so, a representative of a giant floating eye and the literal embodiment of loneliness as a concept walk into a bar.





	something about hindsight and twenty-twenty, oh the irony

so, a representative of a giant floating eye and the literal embodiment of loneliness as a concept walk into a bar–

no, not quite. that’s false information, and you can hardly stand for that, can you.

it’s not a bar.

it’s a lounge, peter insists on that, and then adds the word ‘cocktail’ in front of it when you tell him you associate this term with waiting halls at airports.

“so, you’ve got the Stranger in your institute,” peter says.

you incline your head, the slightest hint of a nod. 

“ironic! i like it!” peter laughs, and then asks why you haven’t done anything about the presence of the not-quite-archival-assistant-anymore yet.

“i’m sure the Archivist will figure it out eventually.”

“sometimes you really do seem to go a little over the top with your whole just Watching thing, you know?”

you don’t answer. of course you Know.

the both of you quietly sit together for a while, until you very nearly start feeling utterly isolated.

*

the Archivist does figure it out – sort of. it’s almost jarring, Seeing him gather all the puzzle pieces only to then arrange them into the wrong picture. still, you quietly Watch him march into storage with an axe and decide to let it all play out. 

(that is, until you enter stage left and play your own part. you can’t have a pathetic old man ruin everything jon-and-or-the-Archivist unknowingly worked towards.)

((“you, getting your own hands dirty! _must_ be the end times!” peter jokes, weeks later. you roll your eyes and tell him that it wasn’t even funny when you Heard it the first time via tape recorder.))

*

no new insights have ever been gained through examining something as petty as emotions, and that’s exactly why you try to circumnavigate them completely whenever possible. you’re good at it (perhaps peter rubbed off on you, and wouldn’t that be hilarious) to the point where you’re sure you don’t even have them, most of the time.

so.

nothing you do is about jon-the-person, you’re adequately sure about that to avoid feeling uncomfortable. 

just about. 

jon-the-person doesn’t matter. it’s the Archivist. it’s _all_ about the Archivist. 

(which. one could almost be jealous, only that you don’t do jealousy. that’s something you leave to lesser people, people like martin. so, instead–)

*

instead:

trying to Watch him makes every fiber of your being hurt. violent static that rushes through you in a full body experience, burning at the edges of your Vision and singing along your nerves like electricity. 

_“oh you should see him, elias – can i call you elias? i’m sure you wish you could, don’t you? see him, i mean. he’s quite handsome, actually, bound to a chair like this– oh, and he’s glaring at me now. i think he doesn’t like me much. but that’s okay! he doesn’t need to, he only needs to die. eventually. i think his skin will look wonderful on me, once it’s taken a little better care of! don’t worry, elias – i can call you elias, right? – i know how much you want him to watch everything, so i’ll make sure to go about the task as slowly as possible when i finally take my knife to him. so he can watch it, i mean! it’s impressive, how long someone can survive and even stay conscious while having their skin removed, did you know that? elias?”_

you did Know, yes, there is an awful lot you already Know. it takes you a few moments to realize that your shoulders are tense and make an effort to relax them. you look down at the excel sheet you printed out (a budget draft) without actually focusing on it. you try to Watch, and every fiber of your being hurts.

_“...just peel it off, if you do it correctly! elias, are you listening? it feels somewhat relevant to you, i just want to make sure you know what’s going to happen to your precious archivist! are you listening?”_

for just the fraction of a second, you are filled with something akin to resentment towards your Master, because yes, you are, of course you are, because the tape recorder is right next to her, wherever the hell she is, and she wouldn’t be able to turn it off even if she wanted.

_“he’s not glaring anymore. i think he looks… ohh. oh, he’s scared, elias! archivist, do you think he minds if i call him elias? i’m sorry you’re scared. does it make you feel better to know that i’ll treasure your skin? i’ll wear it with pride, my dear archivist.”_

the possessive phrasing makes something inside of you ache with protest, and you push it away, and a few hours later, you leave your office and go home early, ignoring rosie’s cheerful goodbye, _trying_ to ignore the violent migraine, still trying to Watch.

*

the same cocktail lounge.

“kidnapped?” peter sounds somewhere between surprised and amused.

“i’m afraid i’m not quite sure what exactly about this is supposed to be entertaining, peter.”

“it is _a little_. didn’t see that one coming, huh?”

“peter.”

“maybe it’s time to start investing in…” he trails off for a moment and then makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, grand and melodramatic. “ballet ensembles? mannequins? or whatever the Stranger is into, these days, you probably know that better than i do, since i’m out of country for–”

you look at him, and then you Look at him. you’ve known each other well long enough – he does sense just how serious you are about this, and he undoubtedly feels the unapproving stare of the Eye as well. he falls quiet, and what you get in return instead is an almost disappointed sigh.

you really can’t bring yourself to care. you haven’t been sleeping well, and the Eye is most decidedly not pleased, and you are furious, and the proposed budget is a disaster, and it’s just overall not a good time and place for him to try and be funny.

“so?” you say, impatience notably in your voice now.

“so!” peter smiles at you. “has been a while since one of us owned the other a favor, hasn’t it!”

oh well.

*

she talks in mandarin, and your– 

no.

new try.

she talks in mandarin, and the Archivist answers without hesitation, without even noticing. you close your eyes and Watch and if perhaps a shiver runs through you, you won’t even try to blame the office temperature.

*

it’s not about jon-the-person, it’s about the Archivist. not orsinov’s, not even yours. he’s the Eye’s.

and you don’t do jealousy.

you do near-religious devotion instead, because it turns out you’re quite good at that one.

*

_“right, okay, just…”_

the hint of hesitation, and then–

_“what’s your darkest secret?”_

you smirk without looking up from the paperwork you’re sitting over.

*

sometimes, you like to Listen to him while he’s reading one of the statements. you are rarely overly interested in the actual content of them – oh, you do find it satisfying to Hear, to Know, naturally, but what you find yourself enjoying most is–

as ever: it’s all about the Archivist. it’s the potential he’s displaying, no matter if he’s reading, theorizing, or manipulating people into submitting their knowledge to him. it’s all the power that’s theoretically his, the way he experiments with it, more hesitant in his role and yet more enthusiastic about it than gertrude ever was.

*

it’s nearing midnight, and the Archivi–

hm. wrong, you realize.

it’s nearing midnight, and jon is still sitting at his desk. he listens back to some of the tapes. jane prentiss’s first, then jude perry’s, then michael’s, then mike crew’s.

prentiss again.

and again.

again.

_“you can be a home”_

_“i see now why the Hive hates you”_

_“you rob it of its fear even though your weak words have no right to do so”_

_“i do not know why the Hive chose me, but it did. and i think that it always had. the song is loud and beautiful and i am so very afraid”_

_“–ot know why the Hive chose me, but it did. and i think that it always had. the song i–”_

he turns it off and exhales slowly, stares down at the tape recorder, one hand placed on top of it lightly, almost gently, as if there was any need to be careful, as if it was not just an object operated by a higher power but a tangible manifestation of said power itself.

“you can be a home,” he says, and then laughs. “prentiss found a, a home, and, and, every– everyone got to, to be or have something that–” he cuts himself off and runs a hand through his hair. “right,” he says. “they all… and what, what do i get?” he looks at the recorder with something close to disgust on his face, something that slowly transforms into half desperation, half just a simple lack of understanding. “i get… hah. paranoia and nightmares. thanks. thanks a lot.”

you stop Watching, then.

there is no device recording, no further words force themselves through to you. you wonder if the Eye doesn’t want to Know it, doesn’t want to engage with jon’s doubt. after all, it’s all about the Archivist. 

the only reason you’re sure the Eye is not insulted, is not disappointed or desperate for him to understand, is that you know of its unerring patience.

you sometimes wish you could make him See, though. See how treasured he is. you wish you could tell him everything he so spectacularly misses because he’s too afraid to accept all that his Master wants to give him, too concerned for his humanity. 

but that, too, is among all the things he has to find out for and by himself.

*

the same cocktail lounge. 

“elias, relax. i know how to do business. if it comes to it, i’m sure i’ll manage to run your beloved institute for a little while without any incidents.”

you seriously doubt it.

you nod.

“do you think it _will_ come to it?”

“hm,” you make, and peter raises an eyebrow at you.

the truth is, you don’t know. but they’re all awfully busy plotting down in the tunnels (sometimes it is a little insulting; hearing them realize halfway through a conversation that a running tape recorder might not be the best idea right now before disappearing down there; i feels like an equivalent of a door being shut right in front of your face) and you didn’t get where you are now by taking unnecessary risks.

and, here’s another truth: you’re curious, because of course you are. part of you wants to Know how it would work out.

(another, secret truth, one you’d never share with peter, no matter how precious an ally he is: all the curiosity and the need to Know does grow kind of old after a few decades; the same emotion always feels the same no matter the circumstance, but there’s hardly anything you can do about _that_ ; you have no control over how emotions work; thousands upon thousands of years of human evolution have taken care of that.)

*

jon is Asleep.

you Watch his Dreams, Watch over his Dreams, a mockery of a guardian angel.

*

the Archivist wakes up.

*

it takes a while to get used to Watching him like this. it’s easy for you to Notice, the difference, the clear distinction between jon-the-person from weeks ago and the Archivist now. if you were just a little fonder of overused, tacky phrasing, you’d say it’s something about his aura.

the others seem to sense it too and casually avoid him for a while (which you find almost insulting, because you want nothing more than to meet the Archivist, talk to him, ask him if he finally understands.) everyone but martin, of course.

martin… and peter.

peter, in fact, seems rather fond of him.

you don’t like it at all.

peter is way too sociable, considering his supposed nature. he keeps seeking out the Archivist’s company, engages him in conversation, and the Archivist, for all his newfound affinity to the Eye, humors him more often than you would like.

it doesn’t surprise you, though. these are the moments jon-the-person still shines through, and the Archivist seems to find something close to comfort in these instances. you Knew peter would be fascinated by him. jonathan “why would i need anyone’s help if i can just lock myself in my apartment without talking to anyone for two weeks” sims.

it doesn’t surprise you, but you still don’t like it. at all.

*

the Distortion visits him, and the being that once was helen asks him how he’s doing.

a mixture of jon-the-person and the Archivist answers her; and says,

“i’m… not quite sure? everything feels… different. sharper. clearer.” 

then glances to the tape recorder that turned itself on. 

“i’m, um. i am… sorry, i think. for dismissing you last time you wanted to talk about… our, um, shared situation.”

“i still don’t like being me. helen doesn’t like being me. i don’t like not being helen. i don’t like being helen.”

(he nods, and you will never understand how the Archivist manages to engage so comfortably and easily with something as nonsensical as the Spiral. you remind yourself that you don’t do jealousy.)

“i, i think i just, i don’t know?” the mixture of jon-the-person and the Archivist looks lost for a moment, then sighs. “maybe i’m just trying to… accept what i’m supposed to be – what i apparently am, now – without losing all the parts that separated me from what i am now?”

“hm,” the Distortion makes. “i think it’s too late for that. but it’s good if it works for you.”

it does work for him. you can tell he puts actual effort into it; not clinging to his humanity with ferocious desperation anymore, just a few selected shattered pieces of it that make his role the tiniest bit harder to play.

maybe that’s the reason he lets peter rope him into conversations, accepts the casual touches, a hand on the shoulder, his arm. maybe that’s the reason he agrees to martin’s stammered invitation for coffee-after-work-but-only-if-you-want-obviously-you-can-say-no-i-just-thought–

the Eye doesn’t mind much, you think. 

(you do.)

*

the beating heart of the institute. 

sometimes, when you lie awake, you almost manage to enjoy the irony of this. you, the watcher. you, the heart. what a metaphor.

[insert an oh-so-funny joke about statements never given here]

*

so, the literal embodiment of loneliness as a concept walks into the prison’s visitor room and starts talking to you, bringing you up to date as if you weren’t able to See everything for yourself (representative of a giant floating eye, and so on). you indulge him, mostly because you’ve got nothing better to do.

“he cuts quite a fine figure, now that he truly is the Archivist,” peter says.

you Know. and you’re proud, you truly are.

but– 

well.

peter grins at you. almost-triumphant, sharp and knowing, and how unfair, isn’t it, considering you’re the one supposed to Know while he’s supposed to simply feel lonely.

ah. there’s the punchline.

you just wish it didn’t feel quite so much as if it was you.

**Author's Note:**

> look i don't actually know what this is, but i stopped binge-listening to rusty quill gaming to write this so _someone_ better appreciate it


End file.
